


Seeking

by Gelsey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/pseuds/Gelsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with the Ministry.  But then, most things in Charlie Weasley’s life could be traced back to that establishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnight_birth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_birth/gifts).



> Written for midnight_birth for a fest a long time ago. PWP with a hint of plot.

It all started with the Ministry. But then, most things in Charlie Weasley’s life could be traced back to that establishment. Most of those things were bad.

For a while, he thought she was bad, too.

The Ministry, once the problems were taken care of post-war, found itself full of employees who were dealing with varying degrees of anxiety as well as aggression and problems working with certain other employees (some of who had some past, mildly shady affiliations that no one could really touch). In a surprisingly wise move, the new Minister created the Inter-Departmental Quidditch League.

Every department that had enough people had a Quidditch team. Departments too small were allowed to join forces with other small departments.

Charlie worked for the Ministry in a technical sense only, being the liaison for the Hebrides Reserve as it had to painstakingly rebuild after massive poaching that went on during the war. His flying skills were still top notch, though, and so the entire Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures pretty much begged him to join their team as Seeker (even though by now he was much taller and broader than he’d been in school).

She was on the team for the Department of Magical Transportation. The first time he could remember seeing her or hearing of her, though later on Ron would fill his ears, was when she stole the Snitch from right under his nose, just as he was about to grab it. A tight little loop that practically tucked her against his body, and she was holding the Snitch aloft triumphantly.

She even gloated, just a little. She had beaten the esteemed flyer, Charlie Weasley.

That day, he really, really didn’t like her.

~o0o~

It became a heated competition between the two of them, him and Cho Chang. This wasn’t uncommon among the players, and was in part why the League was created—to deal with disagreements in a manner that was more healthy than others.

But oh, she rubbed him the wrong way. From the way she tossed her head, flipping that neat little cap of black hair, every time she passed him in the Ministry, to the taunting little loop she flew every time she played against the Magical Creatures, she drove him crazy.

It wasn’t that he hated losing, Charlie kept telling himself. And it wasn’t. It was more about how she flaunted her winning. Mostly.

The next time she attempted to loop him—for giggles, he was sure, because the Snitch hadn’t shown itself yet—he was prepared, and a strong arm snaked out around her waist, pulling her clean off the broom to the cheers of some of the audience and the boos of others.

She shrieked and pounded at his chest ineffectively. 

“Careful,” he said on a chuckle. He hadn’t realized just how small she was—tucked up, she could easily fit against his chest. As it was, she was doing her damnedest to get free, though considering they were quite a bit up in the air it wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done. “If I let you go like you want, Miss Chang, you have quite a fall to look forward to.”

She stilled, but her dark eyes glared up at him. “Unfair,” she said, and he could swear there was a hint of a pout in her voice and lips.

His lips brushed her ear as he replied, “Life isn’t fair.” Swooping down, he neatly deposited her on the ground and zoomed back to the sky, and before she retrieved her broom, the game was over, the Snitch captured high up above the stands. The cheers were nothing compared to the lingering heat of her body and the adrenaline and arousal pumping through his body.

The last he saw of her that day was as she stalked off the field, chin high. From the high angle, he could see the bounce of her silky dark hair teasing the collar of her robes.

He could still taste the skin of her ear.

~o0o~

Cho ambushed him on his next trip to the Ministry, which he made at least once a week on the behalf of the Reserve. It was a hallway, and she came out of nowhere, but he knew from his father that the MagTrans people knew all the secret and otherwise unknown corridors of the Ministry. One minute, he was alone in the corridor, the next, he was being unceremoniously pushed through an invisible entrance to a narrow, invisible corridor.

“That was a nasty, nasty trick you pulled at the game, Weasley,” she hissed. He was once again struck by how damn _small_ she was. He felt like he was huge as she got up in his face, invading his personal space as much as she could when she wasn’t even as tall as his shoulder. Her mild perfume filled the almost claustrophobic confines of the hall, and her dark eyes flashed in the dim light.

The memory of arousal pumped through his veins and dilated his eyes. “No nastier than yours that first game,” he replied, his voice coming out far more husky than he’d intended as he leaned a little closer.

“Takes one to know one,” she said. Was her voice breathier? Yes, he rather thought it was. Was she just a little closer? Yes, he rather thought she was.

“We’re just… nasty, then.” His lips hovered just over hers, caressing the word intimately, a foreplay of sound and breath.

It was she who first bridged the distance, biting his lower lip just a little too hard for comfort. That was all right, because he didn’t much like her either. Strong, work-roughened hands gripped her waist and her back slammed against the other wall just a little too hard, making her gasp and Merlin, he rather thought that was a whimper.

It was a battle. Nothing was easy, just like in the Quidditch games. Her fists were Bludgers on his chest, but her breath was the cool breeze of high altitudes as she licked the spot she’d hit. He didn’t even recall his shirt ripping but it must have. In return, his body against hers was a collision of riders on brooms, but his groan was the cheering of the crowds in her ears.

“Cheater,” she hissed after she bit the lobe of his ear.

“Sore loser,” he growled as his hands skimmed up her thighs, under her robes, and lifted her up in one rough movement. She writhed, grinding herself insistently against him. It was intense, it was selfish, it was self-serving. Charlie didn’t care, because he ground against her in exactly the same angry, demanding fashion.

The skin of his hip was abraded by the cloth of his trousers as Cho tugged harshly at his waist band; the juncture of her neck and shoulder was marked as he worried it with his teeth as she grasped his cock.

His thrusts were rough and punishing. Her long, impractical nails left wheals on the back of his neck, down under his torn shirt to his shoulders, blindly connecting the dots of his freckles.

She was a firecracker, small and fierce and loud in the tiny confines. He didn’t care if anyone heard—they were past that. It was all the furious slap of flesh, keened curse words and imprecations upon the other’s character and upbringing, the rough touch that, rather than hindering, urged the other onward.

She came with a muted wail against his chest; he came with a loud groan swallowed by her silky hair.

He let her go, and suddenly the hall didn’t seem as small as before—the distance seemed somehow greater, though nothing had actually changed.

“Fucker,” she said, righting her clothes in quick, economical movements, though her hands were trembling. She tossed her hair.

“Bitch,” he said, fixing his shirt with a wandwave and righting himself as well. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in more directions than before.

But despite the words, they didn’t move, gazes locked. It was only then that he stepped closer again, cupped her cheek, leaned down.

It was only then that he kissed her, and this time it was soft, gentle, everything it hadn’t been only minutes ago.

For a moment, it seemed as if she would fight this, too. Charlie persisted, however, slow, gentle, and slowly the fight bled out of her, melting her against him. The kiss tasted of blood—his—and passion, tea and the wind above the Quidditch pitch.

“Fucker.” This time it was whispered, no anger. In fact, it was positively gentle, a caress in itself, almost fond. It was part sweetness, part fear, and it was only then that Charlie belatedly recalled a snippet of history, learned from Harry, about what Cho had gone through and lost before and during the war. 

No wonder she hadn’t actually kissed him before; no wonder she preferred to push and punch at him, keeping him as distant as she could even during that intimate act.

He just kissed her again. He didn’t say bitch.

He wondered, as he arrived at his meeting very late, if she would go to dinner with him later that week. Somewhere beyond the Ministry.

Because although this had started here, he didn’t want it to end here.


End file.
